What have you done to us
by Atheniandream
Summary: Based on a recent photo from Sarah Rafferty's Twitter Page. Louis / Harvey / Donna.


_What Have You Done To Us. 1/1_

* * *

She's tapping her toe to a rhythm that her heart, beating out and into her midnight jacket can't keep up with.

Her eyes flick to the presence next to her, her eye line sloping down a touch to see the bald spot; a twitch of muscle beneath flesh that occupies her mind for a moment. It's then that she feels her fingers against silky soft material, her eyes examining the suit clad arm of the man next to her as he holds her like a gentleman.

 _Louis Marlowe Litt._

"It's going to be fine, Donna. Harvey'll fix it." He tells her, that youthful assurance that he seems to carry for his once-long-time-rival.

 _...Harvey'll fix it…_

She sighs heavily at the concept.

Harvey doesn't seem to be able to fix very much, of late, she thinks to herself.

 _She used to believe that he could hold up the sky_. Now all she notices is how he seems to stare at the ground with a greyness.

But then again, he's been rather occupied. He's been tackling his long-standing demons and searching through the mire of emotional awkwardness that has run its course throughout his entire life.

She hasn't told Louis that Harvey is leaving the firm.

 _Nobody knows._

Except her...and Jessica, of course.

Naturally, she was the first point of call for the Managing Partner, after hearing the information from the horse's mouth, as it were.

The words were still rattling in her ears at the notion.

Of him _actually_ leaving. Of him finally breaking up _the family_. Of him no longer belonging _there_ , at the firm.

 _Their Home_.

She once believed that Harvey could be home for her.

Jessica once said that **_he_** was the firm.

It couldn't be any truer a concept, especially in these very tense circumstances.

 **Mike is in serious trouble.** Finally. And after they had all grown so comfortable in the notion that he had gotten away with it all this time. That they _all_ had.

 _Now there could be a very long line of heads on the way to the chopping block..._

She nods once, looking into Louis' paling eyes.

She wonders how Rachel is, knowing that Harvey has never been the one to comfort people in distress.

She feels like she's on the back foot in a way that is starting to grate.

If she had still worked for Harvey, she wouldn't be behind the eight ball right now. She'd have witnessed, first hand, Mike resigning from the firm. Shared with Harvey, and in their collective and solemn fairwell. Maybe he'd have told her first that he was resigning to save their blessed home. Maybe they would have begun to talk about the changes that it would have encouraged, and how it would change them in a very innate and personal way. How it would change their relation to one another. Define it.

But yet here she is, almost on the outside of Harvey Specter's life in a way that has begun to leave a lasting mark.

Her eyes focus sharply when the doors of the elevator slide open. Louis guides her into a stone floored corridor; the federal building looking so much more imposing now, after her own poignant _almost_ -conviction.

 _She's starting to wonder if the United States Federal Government has it in for Pearson Specter Litt._

 _The thought is damaging on a number of levels..._

When they round the corner,

Her hazel eyes seem to clash with two familiar browns.

There is a jarring look in his eyes as they widen for a second, something taking in the picture before him.

She notices the rough set of his shoulders; that hardness in his face as an impulse overrides her head.

Louis's song of important questions blend into the walls like smoke through trees, as she slides her arm out from under his protective hold, moving those few steps forward in her taller than necessary heels towards the man standing stiffly in front of her.

In seconds she is crushed against him; her large black bag slapping against his suit jacket; her suddenly vibrant wavy hair fluttering in front of his prickly face. She feels him exhale sharply, his chest rising and his hands hesitating against the back of her angular, Prada covered hips. She starts to feel the shrink of embarrassment as his disconnection and she begins to pull away, until his hands tighten in a fluid motion, finally claiming a permanent hold on her.

They stand there for a moment too long.

Her, heaving heavily against him,

 _This man with a whisper of tears in his eyes,_

For all the things they both know yet never utter.

 _And another man_ , quiet beside them,

Longing for the picture in front of him.

* * *

 _Sweetheart, what have you done to us?_

 _I turned my back and you turned to dust_

 _What have you done?_

 _And oh please, just come here, don't fight with me_

 _And I admit, think you may have broken it, yeah I admit_

 _And if all you wanted was songs for you_

 _Well here goes, after all that you've put me through_

 _Here's one for you_

 _And don't call me lover, it's not enough_

 _It's got to be tough, cynical stuff_

 _Follow my words to the end of our love_

 _And God, you were the one who told me not to be_

 _So English_

 _Sweetheart, what have you done to our love?_

* * *

 ** _'Sweetheart, what have you done to us?_ ' By Keaton Henson**

* * *

As always, please feed the kitty!


End file.
